


Hail Mary, Full of Grace

by CastielsLieutenant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Hierarchy, Angel Origins, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsLieutenant/pseuds/CastielsLieutenant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean and Castiel arrive in Belleborn, Iowa, to investigate a rash of miracles that have been occurring in the area. But while Sam and Dean are on the case, Castiel discovers an ally he thought long gone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Good Omens

 

“Belleborn? Where the hell is Belleborn?” 

Sam looked up from his laptop to where Dean was sitting at the tiny motel table, staring back at him from over the morning's newspaper. After saving the world a mess of times, the brothers Winchester had decided to make camp in outskirts of a quiet town one state over from Bobby's old digs. Sam shrugged. “Iowa. Tiny town east and west of nowhere that has suddenly had a rash of miracles.” 

“Such as?” 

“Well, news report says it started with the small things – lottery wins, Jesus on toast...” 

“Yeah, sounds charming. I’ll watch it on Ellen.” 

“But yesterday an ICU patient taken off life support woke up.” Dean went quiet as Sam continued. “Day before, an old guy with advanced glaucoma regained perfect sight. Day before that, a paraplegic got up and walked into his doctor's office. Before that...” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point.” Dean folded the newspaper and downed the dregs of his coffee. “So, what do we think? Angel involvement?” 

“Don't think so, not this soon. They wouldn't normally do this kind of thing. Too much attention.” 

“Reaper shortage?” 

“People aren't just not dying, they're getting better. If the reaper in the area wasn't present, they would retain their wounds.” 

“Any other theories? We know anything else that could have the juice to do this?” 

“Not off the top of my head, no.” 

“Worth a trip to the library, then.” 

“Bobby was the one who sent the report, Dean. It’s got him baffled, too.” 

“No need.” The third voice in the room came from the rumple-haired man standing in the doorway. Castiel - angel of the Lord - looked over at Dean. “No ordinary angel has the power to accomplish the kind and frequency of the miracles you have described. We're looking at something much more powerful than an angel.” 

Dean felt his shoulders tighten. “What do you mean, stronger than an angel? What, like an archangel? I thought we iced most of those dicks?” 

Castiel lifted his chin slightly. “True, we vanquished the ones we knew about. Perhaps there are more among my brothers than I originally suspected.” 

“Well, they _seem_ to be on the good side.” Castiel and Dean turned their focus back to Sam, who held up his hands in protest. “I'm just sayin', if whoever is doing this wanted blood, they've certainly got the megawatts for it.” 

“Sam is right,” Castiel noted, moving to the table and grabbing a sandwich from the bag that Dean had brought home from his morning run to grab supplies. “I do not think this is a hostile force.” 

“Well, whatever it is, it has our attention now. Might as well go check it out,” Dean muttered, picking his paper up and tucking it under his arm as he stood. Castiel hovered around the table for a moment, took a bite out of the sandwich half-heartedly, setting it back down. As Dean left the room to fire up the Impala, Sam closed his laptop up and pressed his fingertips together under his jaw. 

“Cas.” 

The angel remained stoic. Sam pressed on. “Cas, what do you think it is?” 

“You do not want to know what I’m thinking.” 

“If you’ve got some clue as to what’s going on…” 

“Sam,” the finality of his tone shut the younger Winchester up immediately as Castiel’s vivid blue eyes lifted to meet his. “You had better pray that I am wrong. What we’re possibly dealing with here is something that you and Dean have not encountered before.” 

“Well, that’s not generally a problem.” 

“Not under normal circumstances, but consider; the kind of power required to perform that many miracles hasn’t been seen on Earth in a long time.” 

The way that Castiel intoned ‘long time’ threw up a red flag for Sam. He pushed his chair back and leaned on the table. “You’re an angel. Define ‘long time’.” 

“Two thousand years.”

 

* * *

 

 

The 1967 Chevrolet Impala roared its way down the highway as the early morning sun beat down on the black paintwork. Dean shot a look in the rear-view mirror to where Castiel was idly staring out of the window. “Mind giving us a little insight as to what you think the hell is going on in Belleborn?” 

Castiel remained silent. Dean huffed out a breath. “Look, I ain’t complaining that it’s something new. Hell, we’ve been gankin’ these sons-of-bitches for a while now and we’ve had quite the education. A few years back, we didn’t believe in angels and now we’ve got one sitting in the back seat. So forgive me when I say that any bull about archangels isn’t going to fly with me. So I’ll ask one more time – what do you think it is?” 

The angel’s eyes met Dean’s in the reflection. “There are more than just angels in the Heavenly Host, Dean. Plenty more. Few as powerful, of course, but we could be looking at a group instead of just one acting alone.” 

“So you think there’s more than one?” Sam asked. Castiel ground his teeth. 

“What I’m hoping is that a few Cherubim got loose and decided to increase the faith in the area.” 

“Are they allowed to do that?” 

“No.” 

Dean chuckled. “Not got the fear of God in them any more, do they?” 

“That's not funny, Dean.” 

“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.” Dean tapped on the steering wheel, mimicking the drumline that was playing from the car's stereo system. “So, you think it's Cherubim?” 

“It's possible. Their ilk have not been on Earth in some time, but the war make have made them bolder and more inclined to walk among the people again.” 

“You don't say,” Dean replied, rubbing at his forehead. “Well that's just great. How many other types of the high and holy are we expecting to drop in for dinner?” 

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “I would not be expecting anyone for dinner. We have not invited anyone.” 

Sam suppressed a grin. “He means, other than the angels and archangels, what other creatures reside in heaven?” 

“Seraphim and Cherubim are the ones that are most active. The last Seraphim I knew died in Africa, after a voodoo witch-doctor summoned a particularly hungry demon to swallow him whole. Of course, Seraphim tend to thrive where there is worship and he'd been sent into the battlezone. The Cherubim are a lot more cunning and they have the beauty and the power to truly be manipulative. We used to have the Nephilim as our answer to the Cambion, but Raphael destroyed them all. Abominations, he called him. Refused to listen to their cries and pleas for mercy.” Castiel's face grew stern. “There is much that my brother did that was not righteous.” 

“Back to the subject, Cas.” 

“Apologies. There are others that count among the Heavenly Host, but if Bobby's news report is right, I would suspect the Cherubim are involved.” 

“So... do we kill Cherubim?” 

“You'll have to find the Ophanim first, but it is possible. Not wise, perhaps, but possible and I'm hoping not necessary.” 

Sam looked confused. “Ophanim?” 

“They contain the spirit of the Cherub. If you can destroy that, you can destroy the Cherub.” 

“Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that,” Dean interjected, as he pulled onto the exit marked as the route to Belleborn. “Though I gotta say, they picked a town with a perfect name if they really are hanging out here.” 

“Belleborn. Beautiful birth. Apt.” Castiel went back to looking out of the window. “You humans always did have wonderful names for things. In Enochian, words are tasteless and bland.” 

“I wouldn't recommend eating _War and Peace_ , then,” Dean quipped as the Impala passed the sign that signalled the city's outer limits.

 

* * *

 

 

St. Matthew's Hospital was usually a place of quiet repose and rest for the seriously ill and recovering. But today, the forecourt area was covered by television crews and curious onlookers as everyone tried to get a handle on what exactly was going on. 

“Penny Middleton from WSNB, your cutting-edge news in Iowa...” 

“... believe to be the first case of recovery for this type of tumor...” 

“... are at a loss to explain the miraculous turnaround, the Chief Surgeon did not...” 

“... the latest in a series of miracles to have happened in the small town. This is Douglas Allamby reporting.” 

“Well, this all seems lovely,” Dean joked, getting out of the Impala. Sam and Castiel climbed out of the other side. The Winchester boys had changed into their suits, ready to impersonate the FBI. Castiel didn't need to. He always wore the same suit and trench-coat. Dean had once tried to get him to wear something else, but Castiel had complained that it didn't feel right, especially without his tan coat. Unwilling to upset their friend, the brothers had let him continue to wear the same thing, which wasn't an issue. Castiel seemed to shower only because he found the whole exercise to be a rather interesting one and for some inexplicable reason his clothes were never dirty or smelled. Oh sure, they got blood and dirt on them, but in the next moment, they were perfectly tidy again. Castiel had once explained that he tried to keep the body of his vessel as pristine as he found it. Sam remarked that it seemed to be his avatar default setting. The reference had gone clear over Castiel's head. 

After making sure they had the requisite badges, the hunters cut through the assembled rabble to the doors of the hospital. Quickly making their way inside, they presented themselves to the receptionist on duty. “Excuse me, ma'am. I'm Agent Schenker and this my partner Agent Meine. The man in the trench-coat is our trainee, Agent Kottak.” Dean flashed his brightest and most dazzling smile at the receptionist. The tiny blonde behind the desk giggled nervously. 

“I’m Katy Woods. I’m the junior administrator here.” 

Dean amped the charm up to eleven. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Woods. Now, since you seem to be the only one who knows _exactly_ what is going on around here, do you mind if my colleagues and I ask you a couple of questions?” 

Katy flushed slightly and looked around. “Well, um, we’re not supposed to be talking about what’s going on here.” 

Dean leaned against the counter, his voice dripping with his usual charisma and just a hint of steel underneath. “Ma’am, we _are_ the FBI. We were sent to investigate this situation so that we can keep it under control. We’re trying to protect the lives of not only the healed, but also the patients in this hospital who are not. If you can spare a few minutes of time, we’ll be out of your hair and you can go back to running this place with your obvious efficiency.” 

Katy bit her lip and looked at Dean appraisingly for a moment. Sam and Castiel shared a brief glance and a slightly worried look that she wasn’t buying their cover story. The administrator turned her gaze to them. “FBI, right? I guess it’s okay, then. I could get into trouble for obstructing justice if I don’t.” 

“Exactly!” Sam leapt in. “You don’t want that hanging over your head. We do appreciate the assistance.” He nudged Castiel in the ribs. The angel stared at him blankly, trying to work out what Sam wanted from him. Sam flicked his head almost imperceptively towards Katy. Castiel caught on and nodded. 

“It is important to my development that I work with only the most cooperative informants. I have not reached advanced interrogation and torture in my training yet -” 

“Thank you, Agent Kottak,” Dean butted in before Castiel could say something even more problematic. As it was, Katy’s eyes were wide and staring at the ‘agent’ in the tan coat. “He’s a big kidder, funniest guy on the force. Never seems to understand when to hold back on the humour, though.” 

The blonde woman came out from behind the desk and patted Castiel on the shoulder, giving him a flirty look. “It’s okay, I like a man with a sense of humour.” She turned back to the brothers. “I can’t be long – the administration manager will be back in ten minutes or so. We can talk in the break room, it should be quiet at the moment.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“It started a couple of weeks ago. Belleborn isn’t a big town, so when the local convenience store sold two winning lottery tickets within a couple of days, we made the local news. A few days before that, one of the young guys on the council maintenance crew was running around, showing everyone a fuzzy image on his rye that sort of looked like Jesus.” 

“Sounds like divine intervention.” Dean was trying to pay attention, but the claustrophobic nature of the room was making him antsy. Castiel had opted to stand in the corner and watch the proceedings like a hawk, while Sam was attempting to not dwarf the small, aluminium chair he perched on. Katy wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of coffee. 

“I guess, if you believe in heaven and all that.” 

Castiel took a step forward and opened his mouth to rebuff her, but Sam waved him silent. “Yeah, you have a point there. So, before that… anything unusual happen in town? Any new people arrive?” 

Katy shrugged. “It's a small town, but not that small. Strangers could still come and go without everyone knowing.” 

Dean let out a long, slow breath. “Miss Woods... _Katy._ You're in the perfect position to hear exactly what is going on around town. You can't expect me to truly believe that you didn't hear anything about any strangers in town.” Katy looked at him dubiously as Dean gave her his best 'we're all friends here and I know you're the most intelligent person who works at this dump' look. She sighed resignedly. 

“Okay, so maybe I did hear something a couple of nights ago after work.” 

“Go on.” 

“See, my girl Casey hangs out at this real dive, a bar called Trumpets Sound. She and her man Rick are always there. Anyway, Casey told me the other night that there's been a bunch of new biker types hanging around.” 

Sam leaned forward. “Causing any trouble?” 

“Not that she said. Quite the opposite. Rick had trouble getting his pick-up started and they had it fixed in a snap. Didn't ask for anything, neither. Just said they were 'returning a bit of goodness to the world', whatever that means. I mean, usually those biker guys aren't in town long, but they've been around for a while now.” 

“As long as the miracles have been happening?” 

“Probably a little bit longer.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Um, Katy?” 

The blonde administrator looked up towards the door. It was partially open and there was a hand on the outer door handle. “Yeah, Ri? What is it?” 

“Katerina is going to be back soon. Wouldn't want to get into trouble. She's a bit fragile at the moment. We're going to need to be back on the floor before she gets back.” 

“Right.” Katy pushed the chair back and got to her feet. “I'm sorry I can't be more help, but that's all I really know.” 

“It's fine, Miss Woods. If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call us,” Sam replied, handing her a card with the dummy phone number on it. The number was connected to a phone they kept in the glove compartment of the Impala to keep in contact with potential witnesses. “If you hear of anything suspicious connected with the... occurrences, you know to contact us.” 

“Thanks, I will.” She shot a look at Castiel in the corner. “I wouldn't mind if you brought funnyman with you next time either.” 

“Oh, that's... uh, really nice of you.” 

“No trouble, after all, it's a service to the public and it will help his training, right?” Katy threw a flirty wink over at Castiel, who looked a little confused. “You take care of yourself, then, Joker.” As she sashayed out, Dean gave a low whistle. 

“Cas, as I live and breathe, I'll never understand the fascination some women have with you.” 

“Well, the pious and the pure do tend to have a predilection to gravitate towards celestial beings...” 

“Oh, trust me, buddy, she wasn't thinking pure thoughts about you and the only pious notion to cross her mind was being on bended knees...” 

“When you two have had enough being the newly-inducted members of the innuendo squad, we need to think about what Katy said,” Sam interrupted. Castiel straightened. 

“Indeed. The Trumpets Sound sounds like the most useful place to start our search.” 

“Great,” Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I love it when a hunt starts in a bar instead of finishing in it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Trumpets Sound was just like every other little dingy bar that haunted the lower-class areas of every other small town. The owner was a fat man who spent most of his time in his untidy apartment, watching reruns of '50s shows and the barmaids were former high school drop-outs and travellers. The locals that frequented the place were not inclined to welcome strangers with open arms unless they had deep pockets and were stupid or were too big and angry to pick a winning fight with. 

When Sam, Dean and Castiel walked in, the drop in mood was palpable. Trucker caps were pulled low, old men turned away to nurse their beers and the old monochromatic television showing the horse racing clicked off in an unfriendly display of hostility. Sam swallowed uncomfortably and took a seat as Dean and Castiel went to the bar. 

“We seem to be... unwanted here.” 

“Well observed, Cas.” 

“I sense the Cherubim have been here, but they are not now.” 

Dean shot a quick look at Castiel as he dug in his wallet for a few bills. “Think they'll be back?” 

“It's hard to say. Under normal circumstances, they would not linger in a place like this.” 

“Perhaps this is their pet project,” Dean quipped. He peered down the bar at the barman cleaning glasses. “Excuse me! Can we have two beers and a glass of soda water, please?” 

The barman ignored him and carried on cleaning the glasses. Dean sighed, slapped the bills down and walked over to him. “Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but we won't be long. We're just here for a beer and then we'll leave.” 

“Heard you were looking for Cherubim.” The voice came from behind him and was gruff, like the owner had eaten gravel for two weeks straight. Dean and Castiel turned to face a wiry guy in his fifties, greying hair evident from beneath his cap and the sun-made wrinkles of a life outdoors evident on his face. “Ain't no Cherubim here.” 

“Like I said, we're just here for a drink.” 

“You were talking to young Katy Woods down at the hospital, weren'tcha?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out his badge. “Sir, if you are going to impede investigations, then I assure you I can and will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law, so help me God.” He tipped his face towards Castiel. “I am _really_ getting sick of interruptions today. Small-town America. Gotta love it.” 

“Hey pal, we don't need any of your big-city attitude here, now.” A second yahoo had joined his crotchety buddy, sizing up the Winchester and squinting at Castiel to get the measure of him. “You can take your prying back on the road with you.” 

Sam watched Dean bristle with annoyance. He knew it wouldn't be long before his brother took a swing at someone. He rose to join his companions at the bar. “Gentlemen, please, don't take offence. We're only in town to investigate the miracles that have been happening. Katy Woods had nothing to do with it, but she did suggest we would find answers at this respectable establishment.” Sam gave the assorted mob what he hoped was a winning smile. Several eyebrows were raised in answer to his hastily thrown-together story. “Since there's clearly nothing _wrong_ , per se, we were just ensuring that the patrons were -” 

“- committed to seeing justice served and respected in order to keep their town as safe as possible,” Dean added helpfully. Castiel just stared around at the growing menace. 

“I don't think they want to listen.” 

“We have to try,” Dean hissed back. At the front of the bar, the door creaked open and a tall, burly man with a thick beard poked his head in. 

“What in God's name is going on in here?” 

The patrons relaxed. The barman pointed at the Winchesters. “These guys are asking about the Cherubim, Patrick.” 

“Well, I think we better sit them down and find out what they want to know without any of this getting excessively violent, don't you?” 

Three beers found themselves slammed down hard next to Dean, making him jump. The barman pursed his lips. “You better not be causing trouble for Patrick, sonny. You're gonna come up against a whole world of hurt if you are.” 

“Don't worry, we're not,” Sam interceded, picking up two of the beers and heading back to the table they had previously occupied, Castiel trailing in his wake. Dean picked up the beer and gave the barman a sarcastic wink. 

“Cheers, buddy. Keep the change.” 

By the time Dean had arrived back at the table, the burly man had seated himself. He cut an imposing figure in leather and dark denim that seemed to be covered in oil smudges. The barman brought over a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks and departed quickly as Patrick sipped on it. He smiled gappily – he was missing a couple of his front teeth – at the group. “So I hear you're looking for the Cherubim.” 

“Yes, we need to find them and convince them to return to -” Castiel began, but trailed off at Dean's death stare. Sam picked up where the angel had stopped. 

“To return with us. They aren't in trouble with the law, we just need to get them somewhere safe. We believe that they may have something to do with the miracles going on.” 

“I find that hard to believe, boys. The only miracles they're capable of is rolling out of bed before ten in the morning.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean by that?” 

Patrick swivelled in his chair to show the group the back of his jacket. “Because I lead the Cherubim.” He turned back to face them. “A bunch of biker ministers that travel town to town to preach the gospel.” He shrugged. “We're not used to getting the kind of this kind of reception.” 

Castiel looked astonished. “You... you're a cherub?” 

“Not a literal one, son. I'm an Anglican priest. Spreading the gospel on the back of a soft-tail rocker.” 

The angel shook his head sadly. “I was so sure.” 

Patrick patted him on the shoulder. “Hey now, don't be like that. It's nice to meet a devout man who believes in the heavenly host. Not a lot of those around these days, sadly.” 

“But, the miracles...” 

“I believe in the power of faith, but really, the scale of what's going on here isn't something I've ever seen outside of a bible story.” Patrick knocked back his beer and stood up. “Is there anything else I can help with?” 

“Yeah, we might need to speak with the other fathers,” Sam replied, handing the priest a card. Patrick took it and tapped it against his palm. 

“You can come to service, if you like. The local preacher lets us preach on a Saturday night.” 

Dean's jaw twitched. Castiel lit up like a Christmas tree. “A proper service?” 

“All the bells and whistles we can manage. The whole gang will be there.” 

“As will we.” Castiel leaned over to Dean. “This will be the perfect opportunity to...” 

“Yes, thank you for that, I know.” Dean reached out and shook Patrick's hand. “We'll be there.” 

The priest left the bar, holding the door open for a barmaid who appeared to be running a little late for her shift, leaving the group a little deflated. Castiel still looked confused. “I don't understand. He smells like a cherub, feels like a cherub, looks like a cherub.” 

“I'll give you that he's a bit round, but I think that's where the cherubic influences end,” Sam kidded. Castiel gave him an are-you-being-stupid-again look. 

“I can see what you cannot, Sam. That man is giving off a particular kind of energy that most vessels do when they are housing an angel. He also smells slightly scorched, which is usually indicative of holy power crammed inside a limited space.” 

“I wouldn't call him limited space.” 

“Then there's his true visage.” 

“Wait, when Pam tried to see you, you burned her eyes out,” Dean broke in. Castiel nodded. 

“Other angels can usually see if there's one in a vessel. Either there's a cherub in that human or there has been one in there recently.” 

“So... you're saying that it's definitely angels, but that they may have moved on since then?” 

“Inhabiting a gang of bikers, travelling around the country? Can you think of a more perfect way to hide from the war?” 

“Either way, I think we need to check out this service tonight,” Sam interjected. Dean nodded. 

“Time to go to church.”

 

* * *

 

 

Belleborn was a small town, not an old town. The church was at the end of the main street; a tiny, whitewashed timber construction with an old iron weathervane on the roof. The Winchesters headed quickly inside, but Castiel lingered, smiling to himself as he looked it over. 

“Humans. You have have grandest cathedrals in the world yet the best of faith comes from a pauper's offering. You never cease to amaze me.” 

“Cas, you comin'?” Dean poked his head out from around the door. Castiel nodded and followed suit. 

The interior of the church was as decrepit as the exterior. The whole place smelled like mothballs and the seating was at best some recycled old school chairs that were donated in the seventies. The hunters grabbed a couple of chairs and sat against the wall towards the front. Slowly, the room began to fill with the usual suspects – devout families, elderly and disabled people, reformed addicts, local businessmen and women as well as a couple that looked like politicians. 

Then the not-so-usual suspects arrived. 

Young people, in droves, appeared and sat at the back, their faces anxious. Punks and goths alike sat with their normal nemeses – jocks and cheerleaders – as if the other did not exist. Within the half-hour, the entire room was packed out. Sam looked around in shock. 

“The... the whole town must be in here.” 

“Nearly the whole town,” Castiel murmured. His gaze flicked over the congregation. “There are a few who aren't here.” 

“Only you would know, Cas,” Dean groaned, sliding down in his chair. “I don't like this. Do we have to sit in here for the whole goddamn spiel?” 

“I'd appreciate you showing my father a little more respect, Dean.” 

Sam suppressed a grin as Dean frowned. “Fine, okay.” 

“You sound like you're really looking forward to this, Cas,” Sam smiled. Castiel nodded. 

“I rarely get to listen to sermons. The last one I sat in for was all the way up on this drafty mountain a few centuries back. I was crowd control.” 

“You gotta be kidding – you were a heavenly bouncer?” 

“There's not a lot for a warrior to do in between wars. We have... other uses.” 

“Well, I suppose you live and learn,” Dean replied, his eyes catching Patrick entering from a side door. He spotted the group and gave them a hearty wave. Taking a place in the front, he sat and watched as the preacher for the evening got up and starting talking. 

An hour later, Dean was nodding off to sleep on Sam's shoulder as Castiel sat to rapt attention, hanging on every word. Sam's eyes scanned the crowd, trying to pick out a likely candidate for holy possession. As the service finished up, Dean snorted awake. 

“What did I miss?” 

“Pretty much everything.” Sam stretched out, rubbing the fatigue in his joints. “Just your stock-standard service. Cas, you see anything amiss?” 

“No... but there's something else. Something close by. Not an angel.” 

The hairs on Dean's neck stood up. “Gotta be something with a bit of juice to cross onto holy ground.” 

“Indeed.” Castiel gave Dean a level look. “I think we should wait here. I think it's looking for us.” 

The room emptied out, the general consensus going that there would be a meet-up at the Trumpets Sound inside the hour. Sam had assured Patrick they would lock up after them. For a little while, the three sat in silence. 

Then they heard it. 

A soft scraping of the front door opening gently and gentle footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Dean lifted his chin, his eyes darting to Sam's face. Sam nodded. Castiel's breath hitched and his eyes went wide. 

“Oh no...” he whispered. 

As if that were the cue, all three shot into a standing position. Dean drew his gun from his waistband and brought it level with the forehead of the person behind them as Sam yanked Ruby's knife out of his belt and readied it to be thrown. Castiel powered up his exorcising energy, but felt it slip away almost immediately. 

“It's you,” he breathed. 

The girl in front of him smiled brightly. 

“Well of _course_ it's me, silly! I've been chasing you three all over town!” She planted her hands on her hips. “It's about time you got here, I've been waiting nearly five hundred years.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Hail Mary

 

Dean Winchester knew demons. Ganked enough of them in his lifetime to know when he was staring down a shotgun barrel at one. He was mostly certain this was a demon, albeit a particularly powerful one. Looking at her, she was perfectly normal, but he could feel the strength of her energy rolling over him in waves. His brother, Sam, looked to be feeling the same thing, but he was shaking. His right hand was clenched over his silver knife and he was balling his left into a tight fist. The pair had faced the scummiest things to crawl out of Hell and some of the worst to fall from Heaven. They knew they could gank this one. Easy. 

What didn't make any sense in the situation was their very own angel looking like all his Christmases had come at once. 

Castiel; the brooding, deadpan sonovabitch was actually on his knees, face distorted in euphoria and simultaneously trying to humble himself before a plump young woman dressed in dark jeans and an old red and white plaid shirt, maybe about twenty-five, a black satchel slung across her shoulder. Her eyes were a bright cornflower blue and her straight brown hair fell just past her shoulders. She smiled kindly down at him. 

“Hello, Castiel.” 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Castiel whispered in reply. Dean looked at Sam, who seemed to be having trouble controlling his shock. 

“H-Hail Mary!?” 

Castiel looked up at Dean, his face fighting a delighted grin as he seemed to try and comprehend that his friend did not recognise who was standing in front of him. “Dean, do you not recognise her? Look at her! See her truly!” 

“Dean...” The older Winchester looked at his brother. Sam dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter. “Dean, it's her. Can you feel it?” 

Dean wasn't prepared to believe he was standing in front of the the former Virgin Mary. He'd had enough trouble believing in angels when Castiel pulled him from Perdition and planted him back in his meat suit. Accepting that the Madonna herself was in the body of a nerd wasn't doing anything for his faith. He shook his head. “We've been fooled before. Castiel, you're no exception here. Why on earth would you believe that Mary herself is standing in front of you?” 

“Because he knows me – and I him.” The voice was soft and gentle, without a trace of sarcasm or bite to it. Mary leaned forward to take Castiel's arm and bring him to his feet. “No kneeling, Castiel. Please. Save the pleasantries for a more formal occasion. But it does lighten my heart to know you are here.” 

“As does it mine,” he replied, standing and taking her small hand in both of his, the silly grin still being wrestled into place. “But why have you manifested? You don't normally need to.”

Dean shot a stern look at Cas, who only seemed bemused. Sam touched his brother's arm. “Dean, I think he means that the saints walk without having to take human form. They don't need to.” 

“I'm a... special case,” Mary helpfully supplied. Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Really?”

“I was the virgin that carried the earth-born son of God. Yes, you could say that gave me certain privileges. I don't need a vessel, but to ensure continued faith, I usually take one. Not a person or a living being, mind you – this manifestation is just a one-off – but a statue.” 

“Ohhh,” the brothers Winchester were hit with realisation at the same time. Sam nodded. “The weeping statues.” 

“Correct. It's nice to let people know you're still around and keeping an eye on things. Of course, I have certain restrictions – I'm not responsible for the choices made by others and I cannot stop certain things from happening. But it all seems to work out in the end.” 

Dean shot a slide-long look at Castiel. The angel had managed to muster his features into his usual poker face, but his eyes betrayed him. Whatever he could see, he was clearly infatuated with. Dean wondered if angels could, in fact, become infatuated or if it was a by-product of walking around as a human. He lowered the shotgun almost imperceptively. “Why are you here?” 

“The same reason as you, probably.” 

“Indeed.” Castiel straightened his tie and stood properly. “We thought cherubim were in the area. That priest – the one called Patrick – he smelled like one. The sheer number of miracles in the area are gaining a lot of attention that we just don't need.” 

“Ah, yes, that.” Mary scuffed at the ground with her shoe. “That might be my fault. Just a little bit.” 

“Excuse me?” Dean cocked his head sharply. “You mean to say that _you're_ responsible for all this?” 

“Of course not!” Mary looked offended. “Just... a little bit of it.” 

“What do you mean, a little bit?” 

“Look, when I got to town, those cherubim were tearing up the place. Those miracles were a whole lot more huge than the ones that made the news.” 

“How does that work?” 

Mary sighed. “You heard about the guy with the glaucoma? The cherub who 'fixed' him pulled his eyes out and gave him celestial sight. You have _any_ idea how dangerous that was? I had to go digging through two skips of garbage until I found the eyes they threw away, removed the gift, then fixed the eyes back into place, not to mention scrubbing his mind.” 

“Wait, so, you can do stuff like that?” Sam looked surprised. Mary shrugged. 

“Saints are a big deal, Sam. We have extra powers, extra abilities. We generally take a teaching role with the angels, but after I learned how Heaven worked, well... I chose to be among the people.” 

“Yeah? Well, we could have sure used your help during the Apocalypse,” Dean almost spat. 

“If I'd been in the country, I would have. Dean, America is not the only place that believes in angels and God. There are believers all over the world.” 

“So where were you?” 

“Dealing with flood and bushfires in Australia, thanks for asking. One-third of a country reduced to an emergency area,” Mary said quietly. The group fell silent. Dean felt kind of awkward as she continued. “Hundreds of people dead. You expect me to rush back here because one angel threw a temper tantrum when I was trying to rescue a good portion of a nation?” 

“Well, yeah, actually! It was Lucifer, for God's sake!” 

“Please. That whiny little chicken is better off in his cage than he was in Heaven. Better to rule the pond than drown in the ocean, after all.” Mary held her ground against Dean. “If I thought there was an actual chance that you would lose the planet, I would have been back in a fiery storm. Look me up, Winchester. The woman cloaked in sun is a bad omen for those who walk below.” 

“Dean, I don't think we should piss the saint off, do you?” Sam whispered to his brother. Dean's jaw worked as he glared at Mary. Finally, he relented. 

“Okay, fine, but what have you been doing here? Shouldn't a saint be able to marshall up these sons-of-bitches without breaking a sweat?” 

“Under normal circumstances, sure. But there's a whole mess of media out there. I can't do this incognito. I managed to get a couple of back-to-back jobs in town so I could keep an ear out.” 

Sam snapped his fingers. “I knew I'd seen you before! You're the barmaid, aren't you? The one at Trumpets Sound?” 

Mary smiled brightly. “That was me! I was also at the hospital when you were talking to Katy Woods.” 

Castiel tipped his head slightly. “You're the one she called Ri.” 

“That's right, I use the nickname Ri. Most people think it means Rhiannon or something like that. Sad to say that it's a much more boring name like Mary.” 

“Mary is not a boring name,” Castiel offered up, a little too quickly. Dean shot a quick look at his brother, who raised an eyebrow. “You are the blessed virgin. You are venerated. No-one should be saying your name is boring.” 

“Not so much the virgin any more, Castiel,” Mary muttered, a sly grin creeping over her face. She clapped her hands together. “Still, we'd best be off. Those cherubim aren't going to lay low forever. I know they are watching me, trying to figure out how much of a threat I am, but I'm not giving them the opportunity to suss me out completely. I take it you boys have rooms at the motel?” 

“Yeah, we got space,” Sam replied. Mary nodded. 

“Alright, then. Let's get to work.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Where have you been?” 

Back at the motel, Dean and Sam were reporting in to Bobby, who was pumping them for information about the Cherubim and offering advice. Castiel sat next to Mary on the bed. “When the war began, there were angels looking everywhere for you.” 

Mary cupped a mug of coffee between her hands. “I was travelling, Cas. I was far, far away from here.” 

“You knew you were being hunted.” 

“Even more reason to stay away.” 

“I was looking for you.” 

Slowly, painfully, Mary lifted her eyes to meet Castiel's. “And then what? Cas, when I left, you were already deployed planet-side. They were hauling you up and down like a bucket of water from a well. You were being used and I...” she trailed off for a moment, took a swig of coffee and continued. “I couldn't stay and watch. Every time you came back, you were more like them and less like you.” 

Castiel looked surprised. “More like them?” 

“Castiel, you have to know that you weren't like them. You never were. What did they tell you – that a true angel feels nothing? It's a lie, Cas. A damn big one. You've seen the rage and the hatred and the passion your brothers felt. Tell me that's not feeling anything.” The angel remained silent, but he felt admonished. Mary pursued her lips. “Angels are so far removed from their own emotions, they cannot handle them when they _do_ feel them. Why do you think Lucifer was the way he was? All those years of being the perfect little prince, then suddenly he’s feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under his feet. I saw it coming, I really did. I’m no prophet, but even I could see how far removed Heaven was from your father’s plans.” 

“Angels are supposed to be the perfect beings.” 

“Cas, stop it. You may want back in, but you can’t throw away everything you’ve learned. It would be a waste of time and effort on your half. These boys… they are as much your brothers as Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael were. You have learned so much just being with them that I can almost see my Castiel again.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Cas, I meant it when I said I was glad to see you. I was worried that I would never see you again.” 

“I’m… I’m glad, too…” 

“When we’re all done being happy to see each other, we could use some input.” The interruption came in the form of Dean Winchester, who had a smug grin on his face. Mary stood, brushing down her jeans. 

“Of course. I’ve done my own research, but I would be happy to compare notes.” 

“Sam’s on the laptop. I’m sure he could use a hand.” Dean stepped back and watched the saint leave, before sauntering into the room. “Well?” 

Castiel looked blankly at his friend. “I suppose so. I am adequately nourished and am suffering no immediate ailments…” 

“Not what I meant, Cas. I mean, you and _her_. That was all very… _friendly_.” 

“She is an old friend.” 

“Look, it’s cool if you don’t want to share with the class, man, but is there – or was there – something going on between you two?” 

Castiel shook his head. “I am not worthy.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Whoa-wait a minute! Am I getting this right? You’re an _angel_ with a thing for a saint?” 

“I do not have a… a _thing_.” Castiel sounded a little annoyed. He gave Dean a level stare. “I won’t have you disrespecting the holy Mother. Whatever your beliefs may or may not be, she has worked tirelessly for the wellbeing of humankind. She deserves the honour she has been given.” 

Dean broke down in the face of Castiel’s absolute faith. “Hey, I was only kidding. She seems great. I just wanted to know what was going on between you two, that’s all.” 

“There is nothing going on. Saints do not… _associate_ with angels outside of a purely teaching relationship.” There was a bitter note to his voice, so Dean decided not to push it. Whatever was going on between Cas and Mary was clearly off-limits. 

Meanwhile, Mary was at the kitchen table with Sam, explaining all she knew of the cherubim in the area. “They've been following that gang around. Whenever I get close to sending them home, they disappear into their vessels. Of course, I can't do anything then – but if we can find a way to weasel them out, we can send them packing.” 

“What can you do to draw an angel out of it's vessel?” 

“Oh, lots of things – sigils, mostly. An archangel blade is still the most efficient way to put paid to them, but you have to try and keep the host alive, right?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam said weakly, as Mary took control of the laptop. She quickly pulled up a website and logged in, gaining access to what looked like a very detailed blog. 

“This is everything I know about angels. The hierarchy, what smokes them and what saves them, how they behave and think... there's no library in the world that can account for the information I have stored here. I'm encrypting a password for you in Enochian. If you ask Castiel, you'll be able to decode it and access the information I have stored here.” 

“Mary,” Sam began, reaching out and pushing the screen of the laptop forward so he could see her face better. Blue eyes met his in puzzlement. “How do you know Cas?” 

Mary squirmed a little in her chair. “Heaven's a small place.” 

“Heaven's huge. Been there, seen the sights. C'mon, I'm not going to go blabbing to every angel and his dog about it. Cas is my friend – I just want to understand what you mean to him.” 

The saint glanced over at the doorway through which she had entered and sighed. “Sam, you have to know this – Castiel isn't like other angels.” 

“I know that. It's pretty damn obvious, actually.” 

She shook her head. “No, you don't. You see, angels aren't really born. They're created. In the death of one thing, new life grows. Angels require, shall we say, massive deaths in order to wake. That's why their numbers are limited.” 

“Then Cas...” 

“Was born from the heart of dying star.” Mary registered Sam's shocked expression. “Don't look like that. Most angels are. The archangels require supernovas that could tenuously tear space-time apart.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“I was there.” Mary smiled sadly. “I asked Raphael about angels and how they were born. He took me to watch one. It was Castiel and lord, was he beautiful. I'd never seen anything like him before. The star blasted itself apart and in the superheated core, I watched something move. I saw his wings unfurl, Sam. Glorious and huge, beating at the darkness, stardust shimmering in their wake. He lifted his head and sang out – the most astonishing sound.” 

“Whoa, y'know, this is getting personal and I don't think you should be sharing this with me if you don't feel comfortable...” 

“Sam?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Right.” 

Mary huffed and reopened the laptop, fingers clicking away at the keys. “Angels, they're born all alone. Their first look at the world around them, they're completely cut off from every other living creature around them. They cry, Sam. They scream in agony. But Raphael told me that it was for the best – it's the only way angels learn to follow orders absolutely. To know that there is only one truth and only ever one way to do something, well... they become brainwashed. In a way.” 

“But Cas was different?” Sam leaned on the table, resting his chin on the heel of one hand. Mary inclined her head. 

“It was my fault.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I heard him cry. That heartbreaking song of loneliness. So I did what any mother would do.” 

“Which was?” 

“I reached out and held him. I pulled him close, wrapped my arms around him and told him I was there.” 

“Aww, baby Cas would have been so cute!” 

“Sam, angels come into existence fully formed. There's no growing up period, only a learning stage. I was cradling a fully-grown creature, terrified at it's own existence.” 

“Then what?” 

Mary smiled shyly. “Then he opened his eyes, looked at me and smiled.” Sam returned her grin before she went back to being business-like. “They tore him away from me. I think they would have killed him immediately if he hadn't displayed exceptional combat abilities.” 

“Yeah, he definitely has a mean swing on him.” 

“We saw each other rarely. I had other duties to perform and he was always deployed. Heaven's perfect little soldier. Captain of his garrison, eventually. Then they deployed him to rescue Dean.” She looked sad. “I'd been trying to trace him on Earth for nearly half a millennium when I heard from this pansy-ass demon I ganked just outside Ubud that the angels were converging in America.” 

“What'd you do?” 

“I got straight on the internet, clown! Did my homework. You don't listen to the grapevine without paying some close attention to what's going on in the bigger picture. All signs pointed to A-day, so I started the trek back Stateside. Only, when I got here, you boys had stopped total catastrophe – thanks for that, by the way.” 

“You're about the only celestial nut-job who _has_ said that,” Sam joked half-heartedly. Mary snorted. 

“I'll bet. Those assholes were gunning for a free-for-all. They've been cooped up too long. Anyway, by the time I got here, you three were long gone. The rumour was that Castiel was angel dust.” She paused, almost uncertain. “I'm not sure I've ever cried so hard. They built a park where I was. The grass is always green there.” 

“How did you find out he was still alive?” 

“God told me.” Seeing Sam's disbelief, Mary explained. “He finds me, sometimes. I think he gets a bit lonely as well, down here. We never meet in the same place twice, but, y'know, it's nice to talk to someone who understands.” 

“Uh huh,” Sam was uncertain how to take this new information. “You know Cas has been looking for him, right?” 

“How was I supposed to tell Cas? I thought he was dead for the longest time. Besides, it's not like God and I are pen pals. When we cross paths, we cross paths. End of story. Oh, here we go. Cherubim.” Mary turned the laptop around to face Sam. “Now, from what I've heard, you've already heard about the third class of cherubim, primarily involved with human emotion.” 

“Right, that cupid we found.” 

“He's low-class, but necessary. None too bright, but useful as a grunt. Second class are a bit more powerful, extra juice. Still not enough to pull off high level miracle work, but you get your bang for your buck. They normally get involved at major historical tipping points. Last time there were large numbers about, New York took a battering to a couple of landmarks.” 

“They were here for the twin towers?” 

“Why else do you think you went to war? Your president needed the push in the right direction, they helped out.” 

“Alright geeks, what you got for us?” Sam and Mary lifted their heads to see Castiel and Dean standing in the doorway. Castiel kept his eyes averted, looking everywhere except for at Mary. Sam cleared his throat. 

“Uh, Mary was just going through the classes of Cherubim. I think we were up to the top guys, right?” 

“Right.” Mary leaned back in her chair as Dean moved forward to squint at the screen. “The highest class of Cherub is the most powerful and the most volatile. There are two parts to them, like a set of tongs – the cherub itself contains the power, while the Ophanim hosts the spirit.” 

“So, how do we stop it? Y'know, without killing it.” 

Mary got up and walked to the kitchenette. “Same way you break a pair of tongs,” she said simply. Taking a pair from the drawers, she held them up and pulled the sections in opposite directions. The tongs snapped in half. “Divide and conquer.” 

“Cut the Cherub off from it's power source,” Castiel murmured, nodding. Mary smiled wanly. 

“Unpleasant, but yes. Hopefully, we'll be able to talk some sense into them.” 

“But just in case we have to gank the bastards?” Dean supplied curiously. Mary gritted her teeth. 

“If it comes to that, we'll need a bit more than an Archangel blade. Those are good and will slow one down for a while, but it won't stop an angel in two halves. We're going to need two and we'll need to completely sever the connection. A high-level Cherub is a bit like a starfish – you cut one bit off, it'll grow a new one.” 

“Sheesh, sounds like more trouble than it's worth.” 

“You ain't kidding there. We just gotta hope that these ones will cut us a break and go topside nice and quiet.” 

“We have the blades,” Sam offered. “In the Impala. We keep them on hand in case we run into anything we can't gank the conventional way.” 

“Where did you get them?” Castiel looked a little angry, sizing Sam up. Dean pressed a hand to his friend's chest. 

“Easy, tiger. When a couple of your brothers got themselves snuffed out, we scavenged the blades. Got 'em in the trunk. Hidden away, of course. You can never be too careful when you got that kind of weapon in your arsenal.” 

“I should be making you give those back right now.” 

“Of course, you could try.” Dean smirked at Castiel. “You've had at me before. Didn't feel so good when you were done, huh?” 

“Guys, when you're quite finished, we could use some help,” Sam interjected. Dean and Castiel looked at the younger Winchester, who had the laptop facing towards them. “Look, we have an idea of what we're facing. We just don't know why.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I mean why now? The war is mostly over and Heaven is pretty stable. There's no real threat of restarting the Apocalypse, at least, not right at this moment. So why go on a miracle spree? What's their motive?” 

Mary bit her lip in thought. “This is just a theory, but maybe it's not motive. Maybe it's a job.” 

“A job?” Dean inquired. 

“Yeah. I mean, you guys have cases that you work, right? Well, maybe these Cherubim are on a case. Maybe they've been out in the cold so long that no-one has bothered to tell them that the war is over.” 

Dean crossed his arms and glared at Castiel. “Is this possible?” 

“In theory, I suppose it is. We lost many soldiers this time around, not all of them came back from the field. It is possible that one recon group may have gone rogue and ended up attached to the bikers. In any case, we've got to find them and talk. They are drawing too much attention to themselves.” 

“Maybe that's the point. Maybe they ARE looking for attention.” Mary pulled the laptop to her and began clicking through her archive. “It's a possibility that this wasn't just your average recon.” 

Sam blinked, a confused look on his face. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning it's not unheard of for angels to go around, drumming up a bit of extra faith to pump up the power gauge. Angelic power comes from God, but God isn't God without a decent amount of belief. Take away the power supply and bam, no more miracles.” 

“That could be another way of bringing them down.” 

“I'd rather not strip a whole town of it's faith, Sam. That's too cruel.” 

“But if it comes to that?” 

Mary's face hardened and suddenly the Winchesters felt very, very uncomfortably. The temperature of the room dropped by five degrees and several doors slammed shut. She stood up and moved to be toe-to-toe with Dean. “Then, Dean Winchester, then I lay waste to the arrogant, snivelling pustules who thought they could take away what hope the people of my heavenly father have found in these testing times. I warn you now, do not take me for a meek and innocent child. I have seen the wars that ravage this planet. I have met the tyrants that have walked the Earth. I have seen the horrors that my people's descendants have inflicted upon themselves and on other people. You forget that you were all created together, the same species that grew out of the trees that you tear down for books that you burn that contain information that you should not forget. I _will_ take every single God-fearing person out of here and then, _then_ I will torch every last piece of darkness that I can find.” 

“Dean,” Sam murmured as the windows rattled. Dean took a step back from Mary, who was still staring at him with a wild expression. 

“Yeah?” 

“Remember what I said about pissing off the saint?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Seems like good advice now, doesn't it?” 

“When we have all finished pretending to be children, could we please get back to the task at hand?” Castiel butted in. The other three turned sheepishly towards him as the angel paced the floor slowly. “Mary's right – we can't go in there, guns blazing. The Cherubim will be waiting for us and we don't know how powerful they are or what they are capable of. So I suggest we lay low for a while, wait until the next miracle and continue investigating then.” 

“First sense I've heard all day,” Mary smiled, stretching out her limbs. She looked the Winchesters up and down. “You two might need to get some sleep. Humans seem to need that.” 

“Nah, we're goo-” Dean started, but was elbowed in the stomach by Sam, who nodded politely. 

“A good night's rest would be useful, thanks. Are you two going to keep watch?” 

“I don't sleep. Neither does Cas. We don't need to. You boys sleep as long as you need to. We'll call you if anything comes up. I'll continue researching in the meantime. See if I can turn up any new information about these miracles.” 

“Right,” Sam yawned, scratching his belly. “Dean, I think it's time you and I treated ourselves to a nice, long nap in a proper bed. What say you?” 

Dean scowled. Someone else in charge was not his style, but he really needed the sleep. He pointed at Mary and Castiel. “Anything happens, anything at all... you fail to squash a _bug_ , you wake us up. I will not be left out of this.” 

Mary raised an eyebrow. “You really have trust issues, huh?” 

Castiel shrugged. “He stabbed me when I told him I pulled him out of Hell.” 

“Way to show your gratitude.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“Sorry, guys, my brother is just a bit on the sleepy side,” Sam offered, taking Dean's arm and hauling back towards the bedroom. Dean screwed his face up and pointed at the angelic pair, giving them his patented I-don't-trust-you-but-I-have-no-choice look. The door shut behind him as Sam hauled his brother through and silence descended on the room. 

Neither Mary nor Castiel really knew what to say. 

Mary sat back down, her hands laid flat on the table. Castiel looked around the room, trying to find the right words to say. “Holy Mother...” 

“Cas, please. Drop the formalities. I don't know what they did to you up there, but it sure wasn't in your best interests.” 

“And exactly how should I do that?” Castiel was across the table from her, glowering at her. “For all the centuries that I fought, there was only one thing that I could do and that was to fight in your service. My allegiance is to God, it always has been. But it was you that I fought for... and I thought you were lost.” 

Mary sighed, reaching across the table and taking his hand. “Cas, I think it's time we talked.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Battle Scars

 

Castiel almost grabbed his hand away, but forced himself to remain calm. “We are talking.” 

“Not like we used to.” 

“Things have changed.” 

“If I didn't know any better, Castiel, when you saw me, you were fighting the impulse to snatch me up and run away. But of course, that would hardly be exemplary behaviour of a Captain, now would it?” 

“Are you making mockery of my suffering?” 

Mary laughed bitterly. “Heavens, no. The good Lord himself forbid me for talking if I was making fun of the horrors those bastard Archangels put you through.”

“They were my brothers!” 

“They were your keepers, Castiel! Do you remember anything of your birth at all?” 

“I remember everything.” His voice, quieter now as he looked at her steadily, made Mary a little uneasy. “I remember being alone in a great, vast void, with nothing but death and destruction all around me.” 

“What else do you remember?” 

“It's not of import,” Castiel replied flippantly, turning away from the saint. Mary sighed. 

“Sometimes, Cas, you really are just a bone-headed angel.” The laptop chimed softly, startling them both. Mary opened the lid and clicked open a new tab to read the report that had just come in. Castiel moved to behind her chair, leaning in for a better look. 

“What is it?” 

“A news update. Looks like another miracle has gone down.” 

“We should wake the Winchesters. They will want to know.” 

Mary looked towards the room. “Yes, they will. But for now, let them sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“I'm Agent Weinberg, this is my partner Agent Van Zandt, our trainee Agent Lofgreen and that's our notary Agent Scialfa in the back with the satchel. Don't worry, she's completely authorised for this deployment.” 

Dean, Sam, Castiel and Mary stood in front of what was looking to be a very disbelieving sheriff, despite his acceptance of their phony badges. “I don't see why the FBI has you boys – and girl – trekking all the way up here to studying some damn lucky sons-of-bitches.” 

“We're mainly here for the safety of the permanent residents, sir,” Dean said authoritatively, straightening his spine. “With all these so-called miracles happening around here, we wouldn't want folks to worry about their personal safety.” 

“We're making a full inspection of all the 'miracle' sites to ascertain the nature of these miracles. Could you show us to the most recent one?” Sam asked courteously. The sheriff twisted his mouth. 

“Well... alright. I don't want my head on a chopping block for obstruction of justice or some crap like that. It's this way.” 

He led the small group through the front door of a rather broken-down old house that seemed to desperately need renovating. “This here place belongs to Thomas Rudibaker. Lived in this town since my own daddy was in diapers. Watched just about every kid in these here parts grow up.” 

“Anything unusual about his recent actions?” 

“Well, no, not really. He's been going to those biker priests' sermons on a Saturday night every week since they got to town, but he's always been a particularly religious man.” 

“Not well-off, though?” 

“No... his wife, Elma, died a few years back. They were always pretty poor, but they kept themselves tidy and were kind to everyone. But they really couldn't afford to keep this place in shape.” 

“Is Mr. Rudibaker in good health?” Mary asked. The sheriff nodded. 

“Rudibaker served on the firefighter team for many years and has been really determined to keep his shape since he retired. Runs a lot, eats like a rabbit, always cleaning.” 

“So it's not a physical ailment that he has had a miracle with?” 

“No ma'am.” The sheriff stepped out of the back door, strolling across the porch and down the steps the backyard – a small square of brownish-green grass making a valiant effort to look like a lawn. “ _This_ is the miracle.” At the bottom of the garden drew a sickly looking lemon tree that had a good couple of leaves, but seemed to be producing rounded, gold buds. The sheriff folded his arms. “You take one of those round things and bite it. Hard.” 

Sam and Dean looked at each other, but it was Castiel who leaned forward, plucked a bud from the tree and crunched it between his teeth. The brothers heard the splintering of his vessel's teeth. Castiel took it out of his mouth and looked at it in surprise. “This is solid metal.” 

The sheriff seemed pleased. “Damn right it is. That's 24 carat gold you just broke your teeth on, sonny. Somehow, Thomas Rudibaker has managed to grow himself a money tree.” 

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock. “A-A money tree?” 

“Yup. The man prayed for an answer to his financial problems and, well, the good Lord delivered. Hey, I guess money DOES grow on trees!” The sheriff chuckled at his own lame joke as the group stared, horrified at the tree. He cleared his throat. “Naturally, we came as soon as we could. Thomas doesn't want any trouble.” 

“A tree like this could attract a number of thieves and hooligans,” Castiel agreed. “It is a dangerous object to be growing unprotected.” 

“You're not kidding there, sonny. So we're debating whether it would be safer to dig it up and take it back to the station, or perhaps just cut it down now. Thomas said he collected enough from the branches to make the repairs to this place, so we're considering his best options.” 

“Something tells me that even if we cut it down, it would still grow back,” Sam muttered. He smiled weakly as the officer turned to walk back into the house. “Can we speak to Mr. Rudibaker, please?”

 

* * *

 

 

Thomas Rudibaker was a small, bent old man with a kind face and bright, dark brown eyes. He watched the visitors warily as they filed into the kitchen. “Sheriff Monaghan said the FBI were in town. Never thought I’d be the one they wanted to see.”  
  
“It’s okay, Mr. Rudibaker,” Mary comforted, drawing up a chair across from him. “We’re just investigating these strange occurrences. We just want to keep you safe.”

“That's mighty kind of you, ma'am.” 

“Can you tell us what happened just before you found the tree?” 

Thomas nodded. “I've been goin' to the sermons by those preachers. You know, the ones that are new in town? They sure are good folk. Always ready to lend a hand and they don't talk down to you none, either. So I go to their church, listen to their words and it's making sense. This one fella, he starts talking about how the good Lord will provide to those in need and asked us all if there were any in the number who needed providing for. I stood up and joked that I could use a little more of the good Lord's graces.” 

Mary's eyes flicked up towards her companions, returning to Thomas almost instantly. “Go on.” 

“Well, the preacher man calls me up to the front. Says the Lord has seen my work and has decided that some of my burdens should be lifted. That I should be provided for.” 

“So, what, he's gonna cook you a three-course dinner?” Dean wisecracked. Thomas chuckled. 

“That's what it had me thinkin'. Anyways, I came home and fixed dinner, same as usual. Went to bed around eight, after a quick night cap. But around one o'clock, I hear something like a thunderclap.” 

“You see anything?” Sam asked. Thomas shook his head. 

“No sir.” 

“Smell anything?” 

“Nope, not even the hint of rain. I put it down to car backfirin' or whatever. Went back to sleep. Then I woke up this morning and... well...” 

“The lemon tree is spitting out poker chips?” 

“That's about the size of it, yeah. See, I thought we were getting the citrus in early, so I went out to take a look. But the buds were the wrong size and shape, so I took a closer look. They sure didn't look like any lemons that old tree has ever given out, so I picked one. Felt like metal, so I took a couple and went down to the Sheriff's office early.” 

“That's where I came in,” Sheriff Monaghan continued the old man's narrative. “I knew for sure that I was looking at, but I sent Thomas here home to collect as many as he could while I went to the jewellers. Sure enough, he confirmed that this here is solid gold. The pure stuff itself.” 

Sam turned to Thomas. “Have you hidden the gold you collected away?” 

“Yes, sir. Already sold a bit to get a sense of its value, but I reckon I got enough to see me through.” 

“How fast is the tree producing the gold?” 

“About as fast as I can pick, really. There's about four or five buds that just keep popping up as I pick 'em. Go on, go outside and give it a go.” 

“Lofgreen, Scialfa, why don't you go check it out and give it the once-over. Report back here when you've established the cause,” Dean barked. Castiel frowned, but Mary caught him by the elbow and dragged him from the room. Once they were out of earshot, she pulled him down to hiss in his ear. 

“You have to act the part, Cas. God, you would think that spending this much time on Earth would have made it easier for you lie and pass for human.” 

“In case you've missed the vital clues, Mary, I am _not_ human. I'm an angel. We don't operate the same way humans do.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on.” She dragged him back through the door and down to the tree, which was swaying innocently in the breeze, the golden buds glittering in the morning sunlight. Mary dropped to her knees and began scratching around in the dirt. “There's got to be a clue or a marker somewhere around here.” 

“You think there is something amiss?” 

“Cas, lemon trees do not just suddenly grow bits of gold. It doesn't happen.” 

“All of the plants in heaven bear golden fruit.” 

“Yes, but for Earth, it's not considered to be a wholly healthy colour for anything non-metallic to be.” 

“But the buds are-” 

“Shut up. Ah,” Mary touched the base of the tree, her fingertips brushing over the bark. “Here we are.” Her touch picked up the curvature and harsh lines of something decidedly unnatural for a tree. “I think I've found our culprit.” She reached up and took Castiel's hand, bringing him down to her level, placing his hand against the tree. “Enochian sigils. Ones I haven't seen in a long time.” 

“A bountiful blessing. Quite a condensed but powerful one. Unless the humans knew what they were looking for, they may have missed that." 

“Not only that, Dean was right when he theorised that the tree would grow back if they cut it down.” Mary put her ear to the ground. “The plant is leaching the gold from the soil everything Thomas Rudibaker takes a gold piece. Once it runs out of gold, it will start leaching other minerals. Cas, I think we've got an alchemical plant here.” 

“That certainly qualifies as a miracle,” Castiel breathed, his eyes scanning the area. He tensed. “I sense we are being watched.” 

“Of course we are. Thomas' neighbours have been watching the house for an hour and there are a couple of strangers on the front path who seem to be _very_ interested in this plant and why the police aren't arresting old Rudibaker, especially since they heard the word _gold_ being bandied about. You'd think they'd keep their mouth shut about it.” 

“It's not just them,” Castiel growled, his hand reaching inside his trench-coat for his angel blade. “I think we have company.” 

“Good guess, feather duster,” came the sharp retort from over the fence. Mary scrambled to her feet in time to see a couple of black-eyed demon jump the fence. One was wearing the body of a lithe, pale young woman with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, the other in the body of a gangly ginger teenage boy. The ginger grinned maliciously. “So nice of you to drop in with your lady friend here.” 

“Mary, get back,” Castiel commanded, his grip tightening. Mary gawped at him. 

“Castiel, no, don't get involved with them...” 

“Aw, what's the matter, pretty lady? Afraid we're gonna cut up your angel boy too badly? I think we should start with those pretty, pretty eyes,” the she-demon taunted. Castiel's arm swung back to strike, but caught in mid-air. As much as he struggled, he couldn't move. He twisted to look at Mary. 

Something about her had snapped. 

Under normal circumstances, Castiel never felt Mary's true power. No-one ever did. But she had planted her feet shoulder distance apart and the angel could feel the pressure as the power built around her and she began to glow. When she spoke, there was an odd echoing quality to her voice. 

 _You will not touch him_. 

The wind howled around them, whipping Mary's hair around her face as the two demons held up an arm each to protect themselves. The she-demon lashed out with a knife previously concealed at her belt, but as it arced down, Mary reached out and pressed a forefinger against her opponent's brow. The she-demon screamed as incandescent light exploded from every orifice, dropping the body to it's knees. While the poor soul recovered, Mary turned to the ginger, who looked genuinely afraid. 

 _Run. Run back to your weak master and cower in the gloom. You will not touch this servant of mine, this servant of the Lord, nor the human that resides here. You will show me respect, maggot. I am Saint Mary, blessed by the Lord himself and you will know my wrath._  

“Hell, a _saint_! That asshole didn't say anything about _saints_!” Turning tail, the ginger demon ran squealing, leaping the fence and speeding off. Mary reigned in the power, returning to her usual form. She cast a look at Castiel, who seemed to be reigning in something himself. She smiled, puzzled. 

“What's that look for?” 

“I... I haven't seen you do that for a long time. I had forgotten the real extend of your abilities. I apologise.” 

Mary brushed her hair back from her neck. “It's nothing. A little light show and for the most part, you have the bastards tripping over themselves to put a whole lotta distance between them and you.” 

“Is it true?” 

“Is what true?” 

“That you can lay waste to fields upon fields of demonic host?” 

Mary took a deep breath. “What I can and what I can't do is not open for discussion, Castiel. Suffice to say that I've never had to truly exercise the fullest limit of what I'm capable of and I pray that I never have to.” 

“For the longest time, I had myself convinced that fighting in your service was something I could do to keep you safe,” Castiel murmured, looking a little embarrassed. Mary reached up to touch his face. 

“Of course it was! You think that we saints haven't fought the battles you angels have? Of course we have. I've been on the front lines, too. But we didn't have garrisons. We had not brothers or sisters in arms. We had nothing. Well, perhaps that's not entirely true.” Her hand slipped down until her forefinger was hooked gently under his chin. “I had you, after all.” 

Castiel reached up to close a larger hand over the small one tucked against his skin. “We all fought for something. Some more than others. It was an honour to serve in your name.” 

Mary took her hand away, cradling it like it had been burned. “Come, we should tell the boys what we've discovered.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Enochian sigils? You think the Cherubim put 'em there?” 

The small group had reconvened at a diner down the road after finishing up at Thomas Rudibaker's house, the brothers wolfing down a hearty breakfast each as Mary and Castiel sipped on coffee. Sam was curious about Castiel and Mary's find. Mary shrugged. “They're the only angels in town besides us. I don't think a demon would bother. Not their style. Crossroad deals would be an easier and less flashy option. They don't exactly like drawing attention to themselves.” 

“It's a bounty sigil,” Castiel explained, taking a clean napkin and borrowing a pen from Dean. “It dates back to pagan days, traditionally inscribed on cornucopias.” 

“The horn of plenty?” Dean asked, a look of confusion on his face. Castiel turned the napkin around and pushed it towards him. 

“Exactly. But this particular sigil is a two-sided blade – it draws its power from whatever is around it. That lemon tree had already leached most of the valuable minerals from the soil around it. It's only a matter of time until it starts sucking what it needs from further afield.” 

“When life gives you lemons, huh?” 

“Something like that.” 

“So how do we fix it?” 

Mary folded her arms and sat back. “Scratch the sigil off the tree. Cutting the tree down wouldn't work – the spell is still there. Taking the markings off is the only way and that's assuming the whole area isn't warded.” 

Dean groaned. “This is getting better by the minute.” 

Mary smirked. “And we didn't even tell you about the demons we ran into. Sounds like we're going to have a fun day.” 

“Whoa, whoa, wait... now _demons_ are sniffing around? Unbelievable!” Dean threw his hands up in disgust. “We need to find these damn flutterbugs and find out what they want... and _fast_.” 

Mary snorted. “The angel jokes just keep coming.” 

Sam reached across and picked up the napkin in front of Dean to study the sigil. “What do you mean?” 

“The demons we ran into out by the tree called Castiel a feather duster.” 

Dean's face contorted as he valiantly tried to hold in the laughter. Castiel frowned. “I fail to see how comparing me to a household cleaner is funny.” 

Sam bit his lip in an effort to suppress a grin. “It's not, Cas. It was a very hurtful remark. You are most certainly not a feather duster.” 

“More like a goose-down quilt,” Mary whispered to Dean, who completely lost his cool and burst into hysterical laughter. Mary gave Castiel her brightest, most innocent smile. “What? What did I do?” 

“Can we please return to the task at hand?” Castiel groaned, rolling his eyes. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Dean swallowed down some water and nodded. 

“Sorry, Cas. Really, man. So, yeah, these sigils. Can you and Mary take care of them?” 

“Of course. But we need to know what the demons are here for.” 

“Sammy and I can handle that. You two head back to Rudibaker's and fix that tree of his.” Dean wiped his mouth as Sam tucked the sigil-inscribed napkin into his pocket. “We'll rendezvous back at the motel in a couple of hours.” He headed for the exit, Sam in tow. Once they were outside and out of earshot, Sam felt game enough to ask the question that had been bugging him. 

“So what's going on with those two back there?” 

Dean shook his head as he pulled the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. “Beats me. Cas wasn't exactly forthcoming with the gory details last night.” 

“Mary seemed to be cool with it. Turns out, those two knew each other really well a while back. She's pretty hung up on him, though.” 

“Aw, well isn't that sweet?” 

“Dean, why is she here?” Dean paused as Sam opened the shotgun door and leaned against the roof. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, technically Earth is a pretty small planet for an angel. Even smaller for a saint. Why has it taken Mary so long to find Castiel?” 

“I dunno, maybe he's been popping in and out since they last saw each other? God, Sam, _we_ could barely get in touch with him. Can you imagine what it would have been like trying to track him _on_ _foot_?” 

Sam looked at his feet. “Or there's a couple of other possibilities.” 

“Such as?” 

“Either Mary didn't _want_ to find him or Cas is so ashamed of what he's done that he couldn't face her.” 

Dean's jaw worked as he scowled at his brother. “Cas has no reason to be ashamed.” 

“Angels don't just rebel against Heaven and walk away from it, Dean.” 

“Then she has no right to hold it against him!” 

Sam tipped his head. “I just think that there's more to those two than we initially realised.” 

Dean screwed his mouth up, unable to find a good enough retort. “Just get in the car, Sam. We've got some demons to gank.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Five hundred years?” Mary carefully played with her napkin as Castiel swallowed, hard. He tried again. “I didn't know you were looking for so long.” 

“I couldn't find you. I was getting conflicting information, Cas. I tried so hard. But every time I came for you, you weren't there. They'd either moved you or taken you home. When I heard about the apocalypse, I ran. As fast as I could. I got there too late. You were gone.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

“Are you really, though? Did you even think to look for _me_?” 

“I thought you were still in Heaven.” 

“You should have known I would have come for you.” 

Castiel hung his head. “Why? I'm just an angel.” 

The dismissive way that he described his species caused a vile taste in her mouth. Mary covered his folded hands with one of her own. When he looked up at her, she tried for a smile, but failed miserably. “You were _my_ angel, Cas, come on.” 

“I am defective.” 

“You are brave, steadfast and loyal.” 

“I made mistakes.” 

“Haven't we all? You don't have a soul; you had to learn all this the hard way. If you have a soul, it's... easier. It's like you're pre-programmed with all that knowledge. Humans call it instinct.” 

“I should have known better.” 

“But you didn't. Castiel, it's not that easy. Humans have other humans to guide them. Your father wasn't there and what you learned of humans you learned through watching them or through me and I haven't been a proper human being in a couple of thousand years. Now, suddenly, you're best friends with a couple of hunters and their father-figure and you expect it all to be as easy as war?” Mary shook her head. “War is easy. Mostly, it involves death. Living is the hard part.” 

“If you knew all this, why did you come looking for me?” 

“Cas, if I have to explain that, you really haven't learned anything in your tenure here.” Mary stood, looking at the angel. She sighed. “I never could compete, not really. You were made for a purpose and I guess I was probably wrong to come looking for you. I'm sorry if I've botched things for you. I'll help out with this case and go on my way.” 

“There's no need -” Castiel began, but Mary was already on her way out of the door. He sank back into the seat and took a deep breath. It was a mess. He really hadn't expected Mary to show up and he was a little embarrassed that he hadn't recognised her immediately. He'd never blamed her for anything – not the bullying from the other angels, not the endless missions and attacks he'd endured, not the constant reminder that he was different and that he was not like the others, that he was somehow weaker. He knew the truth. 

He was stronger. 

Not physically stronger, but spiritually and mentally strong. When the worst came and his garrison was up to its elbows in hell-fire, he alone had plunged on. When the demon scourge had attacked Heaven, he had taken the front-lines gladly. Only moments after his birth, when his own brothers had tried to take him out, he had fought for his life and for one other thing. 

He had fought for her. 

An angel's concept of family was skewed no matter what their birthright was. Dean and Sam had taught him a thing or two in that department. He considered them his family more than another angel. But it was Mary who had taught him what was possibly his most important lesson – she had taught him how to love. He had never told her – after all, how could he? He was an angel, just a grunt in the war. She was a Saint; the wisest of the holy host and exalted above even the Archangels. Castiel never knew what had become of the other Saints – and part of him didn't want to know - but he'd always kept an ear for news about Mary. 

He'd been stationed on Earth when the news came through that she had left Heaven the last time. He was surprised, but it wasn't unheard of. When he returned to Heaven, he looked for her. The more he had searched, the more he had realised that she probably wasn't coming back this time. In time, he had tried to forget her. Tried to become what was expected of him, eschewing all emotion and finally attaining recognition as a full and proper angel. Captain of the garrison after Anna fell. Heaven's perfect little soldier. 

And for what? 

Castiel snorted derisively and flicked the napkin in front of him. Free will wasn't all it cracked up to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Mary stood on the stoop outside the diner, trying to slow her breathing down and force the heaviness out of her chest. Whatever was going on with Castiel, it wasn't just a small thing. It was an identity-shredding, existence-questioning moral dilemma. He wasn't the brave soldier she had cared for. He was beaten down; bruised, broken and there wasn't anything she could say that would make him feel any more worthy of love when his own hatred of himself was dragging him down. 

Falling back against the wall, she felt the first tears prickle her eyes. She, of course, knew _exactly_ what was troubling him. His actions in Heaven hadn't gone unheard – Raphael had come to her, tracked her down and threatened her existence if she chose to support Castiel's cause or to stay out of the fight. _Threatened_ her. She had politely reminded him who outranked whom after stringing his vessel upside down in a tree by its intestines. He hadn't come looking for her again, but it wouldn't be the last time she had chosen the road of violence to get her point across. 

Oh yes, she couldn't claim to not having blood on her hands. 

The tears were coming now. There was no stopping them. As she mopped at her face, she laughed deadly. It was too late now. Her Castiel was gone – those winged bastards had beaten every last good intention and moral fibre out of him and turned him into a machine. For a while, she had been scared that there would be nothing left of the Castiel she had known. She could only thank her God that Dean and Sam had managed to instil some sense of caring back into his empty shell. When she looked at Castiel now, there was a tiny spark left dwindling in the depths, but there was nothing compared to the way he used to be. 

But then, did she really expect anything more from something that had no soul?

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and branded names are copyright of their respective owners. The most I'll ever own is a plot. This plot, to be precise. St. Mary is a biblical person, but in this text, her incarnation is of my design.


End file.
